


All I Want is You

by Hellfire_and_roses



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, crowley is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellfire_and_roses/pseuds/Hellfire_and_roses
Summary: Armageddon is over and Crowley is tired of waiting. After millennia looking over their shoulders, it was time things changed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 148





	All I Want is You

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a secret santa over on Tumblr, hope you enjoy it :)

To say that Crowley was confused would be an understatement.

For the past 6000 years, he and Aziraphale had been playing a "will-they-wont-they" sort of game - each getting slightly too close in turn, before they scurried away, afraid of what would happen if they actually crossed that bridge and then they got caught by either side. Or so Crowley had thought.

So with Armageddon averted and each of them rather more freelance than they had been, Crowley would be forgiven for assuming that this was the moment everything would change. That they would finally be together the way they both wanted. He'd imagined cosy confessions in the bookshop, an invitation to stay after a walk home, or that Aziraphale would simply steal a kiss after one of their drunken theological debates.

But there was...nothing.

Aziraphale had held his hand on the bus ride home and that was it. He hadn't even held it again since. Crowley had dropped several less than subtle hints that maybe they should move things along and each time he'd been met with confused, furrowed brows and a vague "yes, my dear.".

So yes. Confused didn't even begin to cut it.

That wasn't to say nothing had changed of course, oh no, there was an obvious shift between pre-and-post Armageddon. They went out a lot - picnics in the park, the Ritz, the national gallery and, on one memorable occasion, a nightclub - where Aziraphale had been horrified by "what passes for dancing these days!" and Crowley had been equally horrified by Aziraphale attempting to teach a group of bemused drunken revellers the gavotte - and not once did they have to pretend to be arguing, or one walk slightly behind the other as if they weren't together. But it rather just felt like doing more of what they'd done previously rather than any sort of escalation in their relationship. Which is why Crowley had decided to up the ante. He was going to take Aziraphale for a lunch so romantic there was no _way_ the angel could interpret it as anything other than a date. And then surely, _surely_ , Crowley would get the resolution he was hoping for (it had, of course, crossed his mind that he should just kiss Aziraphale. Or, you know, talk to him like the fully grown 6000 year old demon that he was. But he still remembered that night in the Bentley, “ _You go too fast for me, Crowley_.”, and he thought it was safer not to risk it. Let Aziraphale make the first move. That was best).

Which was what brought him to this moment. Sat in the Bentley outside the bookshop with a picnic basket on the passenger seat beside him (stuffed with the finest cheeses, meats, fruits, breads, pastries and champagne he could think of) and a box of Belgian chocolates resting on top of it. Now that he was here, he was just hoping it was enough. He climbed out of the car and retrieved his items, then strode into the shop before he could think better of it. Aziraphale looked up and his face broke into a wide smile.

“Crowley.” He said, delightedly.

“Angel.” Crowley held out the box of chocolates. “I brought you something.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Oh, how wonderful. Thank you, my dear.”

“Not a problem. And,” Crowley held up the basket, "We're going on a picnic."

Aziraphale looked up from his chocolates and stared at him, doubtfully. "A…picnic?” He said slowly. "It's December. It's only about 4° outside."

Crowley glared at the sky out of the window, as if the weather being correct for the time of year and season was somehow a personal affront to him.

"...indoor picnic." He amended, not nearly as smoothly as he'd have liked. "Here. In the shop."

The corner of Aziraphale's mouth twitched. "O...kay. That sounds...lovely?" He seemed to be torn between amusement and bemusement, and the result looked absolutely adorable. Crowley grinned.

“Wonderful.” He put the basket down and pulled out a blanket, which he laid on the floor with a deliberate flourish. Aziraphale gave a small huff of amusement and sat down as Crowley unpacked the food. His eyes widened as he took everything in.

“Crowley, this is fantastic!” he breathed. “Oh, my dear, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“Nah.” Crowley lied. “Champagne?” he held out a glass, which Aziraphale gratefully took.

“Really Crowley,” Aziraphale took a drink, “Thank you.”

“Like I said. No trouble.”

Aziraphale smiled and picked up a sandwich, bringing it to his mouth then pausing when he saw the tiny black ant scurrying across it. His eyes tracked it for a few seconds before flicking down to the picnic blanket where his gaze alighted on some of its fellows converging on a chicken wing. A confused frown creased his brow for a second before his whole face slackened in exasperated understanding.

"Crowley. There are ants."

"So there are."

" _Ants_. In my shop."

"It's not a proper picnic without ants!"

" _Crowley_."

"Fine." Crowley grumbled, flicking his hand and sending the ants back to the cosy anthill he'd found them in.

"Thank you." Aziraphale said, taking a sip of champagne. "I hope that's all you've done. If there are pigeons lurking somewhere nearby to finish off our leftovers I _will_ leave you."

"There definitely aren't. Give me some credit." Crowley said guiltily, surreptitiously snapping his fingers. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

"Good. Ants are one thing but if there's bird faeces on any of my books..." He trailed off threateningly. Crowley grinned.

"You'll what, angel?"

"Don't make me show you." Aziraphale tried to maintain a sinister demeanour but he couldn't stop the grin from shining through. "Demon."

"Angel."

They beamed, each holding the other’s gaze for a long moment. Crowley couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking down to Aziraphale’s mouth. This felt like a perfect moment for the angel to kiss him…but no. Aziraphale shook his head fondly and went back to his (now thankfully ant free) sandwich. They made their way steadily through the food, conversation coming easily to the two of them, especially as the champagne was flowing. Crowley began to wonder what would happen when the food ran out. There was always more alcohol, of course, but he felt like this little picnic rug was somehow magical; their own little bubble away from the rest of the world. He wasn’t quite ready to leave.

“Everything alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, noticing Crowley’s expression. The demon quickly smiled.

“Of course. All good, angel. Lovely picnic, isn’t it?”

“It’s marvellous, Crowley. Although I must ask…” Aziraphale glanced into the picnic basket, "what is this in aid of? I mean, don't get me wrong this is a lovely date, but it is a bit unexpected. Is there a special occasion I've forgotten about?" He picked up a pear and examined the skin for imperfections.

"No, I was just thought we could…hold on, date? You said _date_? This _is_ a date?"

Aziraphale blinked, looking away from the fruit to Crowley. "Well…yes."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Am I...? What? We've been dating openly for the past few months, in secret every now and again for a few thousand years before that. It would be a bit odd for me to suddenly have a problem with it now." He took a bite of his pear.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Hold on, hold on. Just so I’m clear. We've been dating."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I rather thought you knew." He said, taking another mouthful of pear.

"But...you haven't _done_ anything. We’ve never even kissed. How could I...?"

Aziraphale swallowed his mouthful. "I held your hand." He pointed out. "On the bus. I rather left it up to you, then, my dear."

"You held my hand?" Crowley repeated weakly. "And I was supposed to infer from that that I was welcome to...to...snog you senseless whenever the feeling took me?"

Aziraphale cocked his head. "Snog me senseless, a peck on the cheek, more hand holding...whatever you were comfortable with I suppose. Physical intimacy is quite a minefield." Aziraphale set down the remains of his finished pear and began peering into the basket again.

"How are you being so calm?!" Crowley demanded, standing up quickly. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

"Well one of us should be. I'm afraid I don't understand why you’re being so melodramatic, I mean, you've been in love with me for thousands of years and you must know I’ve reciprocated for some time. Are those chocolate éclairs?”

Crowley gaped at him. “Are you…but…you _knew_?! You knew the _entire time_?!”

“Well of course I did. Angel, remember?” Aziraphale tapped his temple. “I can sense it.” He took a bite of éclair and moaned appreciatively. “These are scrumptious, Crowley, where did you get them?”

“A bakery in-” Crowley shook his head. “No, what am I…? That doesn’t matter. Aziraphale will you _stop eating_?”

Aziraphale held up a hand in surrender. “Crowley, surely you’re not actually upset? Ok, so there’s been a slight misunderstanding but we’re both on the same page now. What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? How about that, as far as I’m concerned, the ball’s been in your court since the 1960s and I’ve been sat around for months wondering why you haven’t made a move? _You_ told _me_ to slow down. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Aziraphale had the good grace to look guilty. “Ok, I didn’t know that. For that I’ll apologise.”

“Oh how gracious of you.” Crowley grumbled, but it was in a half-hearted sort of way. It was hard to be properly upset when your heart was hammering excitedly in your chest at the realisation that everything you wanted was right in front of you.

“Oh for pity’s sake.” Aziraphale set down his éclair and rolled his eyes, standing up. “If it’ll help you move on from this then let’s just…” without any further warning, he gripped Crowley’s face and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. They stood there, unmoving, for a couple of seconds before Aziraphale pulled back. “There, are you-” he was cut off when Crowley swooped in, pressing their mouths together again. It was different this time. Softer. Sweeter. Aziraphale’s mouth hesitantly moved under his and Crowley let out a small whimper before mirroring the action. He became lost in the smooth glide of their lips, the taste of Aziraphale, and he wasn’t sure how long it was before the angel pulled back and rested their foreheads together. Aziraphale was _warm_ , so deliciously warm, and Crowley wondered whether it would be impolite to transform into a snake and slither inside Aziraphale's jacket. Probably. But then sometimes you never really know until you try a thing.

"...happy?" Aziraphale’s voice was slightly unsteady.

"Ngk." Crowley said eloquently.

Aziraphale apparently interpreted this as positive, because he nodded.

"Right then. Good. I'm going back to my eclair. Are you having one?" He sat back down on the blanket and picked up his pastry. Crowley stared at him for a moment before dropping down next to him, sitting much closer than before, and grabbing his own. He ate half of it in one bite, his eyes not leaving Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale noticed and raised an eyebrow, then before Crowley could react he stuck his finger into the cream and dabbed some on Crowley's nose. Crowley blinked rapidly, and then a wolfish grin spread over his face.

"That's how we're playing it? Oh, angel. It is ON."

"No!" Aziraphale protested half-heartedly, before letting out a delighted yelp when Crowley flung himself at him.

Later on, Aziraphale would tut at the mess they'd made, and force Crowley to miracle cream and food debris off of the various books that had gotten caught up in the shenanigans. And Crowley would roll his eyes and pretend to protest, even though they both knew he'd do anything Aziraphale asked when he looked at him Like That.

But for now, the two of them were just caught up in each other, finally able to touch, to kiss, to be free.


End file.
